


Trouble Always Finds Me

by resonatingkitty



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resonatingkitty/pseuds/resonatingkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Moxley is a man that lives his life with a vengeance. No direction and no stability. He does what he wants, when he wants, with no care nor thoughts of the repercussions of his actions. He also has a way of getting himself into trouble. So when he gets into some trouble with some goons and flees to Louisiana, he goes from one frying pan into the fire when he catches the eye of one Bray Wyatt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU fic. I'm not really exactly sure how long this is gonna be yet. Just kind of going with the flow on this one.

Welcome to Oakdale, Louisiana. 

Mox had glanced at the sign as the semi he'd hitched a ride with passed into the city limits. The town soon comes into view and he's dropped off in the parking lot of the first and apparently only motel in town. Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, Mox walks the short distance across the gravel covered parking lot to the office. The middle aged woman behind the counter is curt but friendly and it takes Mox only a few minutes to get himself a room. He pays in cash and with key in hand, heads down the side of the building until he gets to the door that marks his room. It's just about as bland as he was expecting – tan walls, single twin bed, one nightstand with a digital clock, and a tv. There is an adjoining bathroom with a shower, toilet, and small sink. _'This would do nicely enough'_ Mox thinks sitting on the edge of the bed. He sits the duffel bag at his feet and lets out a sigh, reaching a head up to brush his bangs back from his eyes. 

He was only here in this small southern town because he was running. And he wouldn't have been running if Sami hadn't practically made him out of fear for his safety. See Jon Moxley is a man that lives his life with a vengeance. No direction and no stability. He does what he wants, when he wants, with no care nor thoughts of the repercussions of his actions. He has this magical way of always getting himself into trouble. Although Mox would argue it's trouble that always seemed to find him. And trouble is exactly what's gotten Mox in this. He'd messed around with some goons that he knew better than to mess around with and he had pissed them off real good. Sami, being the motherfucker that he was and the closest thing that Mox really had for a friend, had caught wind that these goons were looking for Mox to get payback on the stunts that he'd pulled and insisted that he flee until things cooled off. Mox would have rather fought that run like a coward but it turned out that the goons had some connects with some very dangerous people. Dangerous people that could and no doubt would kill him had they the chance. 

Mox lets out another sigh, this one frustrated. Thinking about his situation wasn't going to help him. He needed alcohol in the worst way. Luckily he remembered that he'd seen a small bar close to the motel and there wasn't a moments hesitation before he was heading out the door. 

-  
The bar is about as southern as Mox could have imagined. The floors are wooden as were the tables, chairs, counter, and stools. Literally everything in this place was made of wood – old wood at that. Various mounted animals ranging from deer to a stretched out gator skin decorated the walls. There were also pictures, shot in black and white, hanging around. Two very antique pool tables sat to the right of the door. It's a relatively small bar. The counter is wedged in the back left corner, forming an effective L shape. Shelves lined the walls behind the counter and on those shelves sat various bottles of alcohol. There were a few stools placed around the bar. Mox walks across the room and plants himself on one of the stools closest to the back wall. His back is facing a wall and he's got a good view of the pool tables as well as the door. There are around ten or so people already in the bar. Some of them spared him a brief glance as he'd walked over to the counter but he'd largely gone unnoticed. That suited him just fine.

“What can I get for ya stranger?” A voice draws Mox's attention. Standing in front of him, wiping a shot glass with a rag, was the bartender. He was an older man, slightly graying hair, sharp eyes. Mox catches a glimpse of a tattoo on his arm as he continues to wipe the shot glass. He's regarding Mox calmly and it dawns on Mox that he's waiting for him to order. 

“Got any Jack?” It's the first brand that Mox's mind comes up with. The bartender nods with a “Comin right up,” and turns away. He returns shortly with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a shot glass full of ice. 

“I'm goin to assume that ya want more than one shot,” the bartender says, unscrewing the lid and pouring the glass full, “so I'm goin to leave ya the bottle. If ya drove here then I'm goin to need ya car keys, sheriff'll have my head if another patron goes and runs their car into another buildin.” 

“I walked.” Mox says and the shot glass and bottle are handed to him, “thanks.” 

“Ya welcome. Just holler when ya get ready to pay,” the bartender replies walking back to the other side of the bar to wait on a guy who had walked up with an empty glass.

-  
Mox is on his fifth shot when they walk in. Two dudes. One had long black hair complete with a full black beard, both looking like they hadn't seen a comb in months. His clothes were equally as unkempt – dirty gray tank top, faded dust covered blue jeans, and scuffed up black boots. The other guy was bald with a ginger beard that wasn't as long or as bushy as the others. He was wearing a green jump suite. 

Mox spares them a quick glance as he was pouring another shot. They sit at the other side of the bar, their backs to the door. Black beard orders himself a beer then turns to stare up at a small tv that's playing in the corner. Mox takes his shot and turns it up intending to settle back into what he was doing, ignoring everyone here. He'd downed a couple more shots and the bottle is halfway empty when he feels the set of eyes on him. 

Annoyance starts to bubble in the pit of Mox's stomach, mixing with the buzz from the shots. Normally, he wouldn't have a problem with it. He craved the attention. Loved having peoples' eyes on him if he was honest but right now, in this moment, he didn't want the attention. He certainly didn't want to be stared at by some bearded asshole. He should have just ignored it or just left but the Jack Daniels in his system severely clouded the very little judgment he had. And so instead of ignoring or leaving, Mox looks up to shoot a glare at the bald man, who still had yet to look away. 

“What are you staring at?” Mox sneers. His voice comes out higher than he meant for it to but he didn't care. 

The bald guy blinks and tilts his head to the side. He doesn't answer and he doesn't look away. He just keeps staring like it's the most normal thing in the world to do. The annoyance in Mox's stomach turns into pure hot rage. 

“Hey motherfucker, I asked you a question,” Mox is on his feet now, surprisingly steady despite the amount of whiskey he'd consumed. He's facing the man, fist closed at his side. 

Again the bald guy does nothing, even ignoring the hand that is placed on his should by Black Beard. He just keeps staring right at Mox. The entire bar is silent, all eyes now on the two men. Mox's eyes shift quickly to the shot glass filled with what would have been his next shot. It's a quick decision that has Mox reaching out for the shot glass and it's a dumb one that has him slinging its contents right in the guy's face. 

Everything moves fast then. The bald guy is off the stool in a flash and lunging at Mox. Mox manages to dodge the attack and get a punch landed on the guy's cheek before a knee to his gut drops him. 

He's flat on his back on the wood floor. The bald guy is above him raining wild frenzied fists down on him. Still winded, Mox could only put up his arms in attempt to block the punches. His mind was reeling and his body was sluggish as he tries to fight back, his blows not really landing. He tries to shift to get the guy off him but to no avail. 

“Erick!” a sharp commanding voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of the bar. The bald guy stops mid-swing, heading snapping to the door. Mox lifts his head so he could see. 

In the doorway stood a man. He had long dark hair and a beard. He was shorter than Black Beard and the bald guy – Erick. He was more of Mox's height. He was wearing a hat and a colorful Hawaiian shirt. He held an unlit lantern in his hand. He's got his eyes fixed on Erick, calm but serious. 

Erick was still staring at the guy in the doorway when Mox tenses, ready to take advantage of the distraction and turn the tables on this fight. However, before Mox so much as move, the guy in the door had stepped aside and nodded his head toward the now unblocked doorway. Immediately Erick was off him and along with Black Beard was walking across the bar, disappearing out the door. Mox is left on the floor, staring after them. 

The guy in the Hawaiian shirt turns to follow them but he pauses in the doorway to look over his shoulder at Mox. Their eyes meet, blue on blue. Something, like an electric sensation, shoots through Mox and he's momentarily frozen before he shakes it off and twists his face into a snarl, daring the asshole to say something. The guy just smiles at him and reaches up to tip his hat before he walks out the door and is gone. 

Mox stands up on shaky legs, reaching out to grab a hold of the counter as the room starts to spin. The alcohol he'd consumed was catching up with him. 

“Son you're the luckiest feller I've ever seen,” the bartender says, sounding surprised and just slightly in awe. 

“Yeah? Why's that?” Mox asks rubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to regain his bearings. 

“Thems there were the Wyatts,” the bartender busies himself with removing the bottle of Jack and the shot glass as he explains. “They live just north of town, deep in the woods. They're a weird bunch. The one with the hat is their leader. I ain't ever seen anyone do what you done and walk away. Ain't ever seen the leader call off his boy like that either. Most people who cross the Wyatts end up hurt or worse.” 

Mox curses under his breath. That's just what he needed on top of everything else. “Fucking fantastic,” he says dryly fumbling to pull out money to pay for his drinks, “Just my luck.”

“Word of advice. If I were you, which I'm glad I ain't,” the bartender takes the money Mox hands him after he adds up the bill, “I'd go lay low real quietly and hope they didn't come lookin for me.” 

“I'm not scared of anyone!” Mox growls defiantly attempting to glare but not really succeeding with the action. 

“If you're smart then you'd better learn to be. Of them anyway,” the bartender warns, turning away to go put the money in the cash register. 

Mox snorts and straightens up. He's steadier on his feet now and he's sure he can make the walk back to his motel room. He leaves the bar and starts back. He gets almost back to the motel – twenty steps or so and he would be in the parking lot – when the sensation from before when he and the Hawaiian shirt guy locked gazes goes through him again. He's being watched he's sure of it. The bartender's warning rings in his head, _'I'd go lay low real quietly and hope they didn't come lookin for me.'_ and Mox curses, picking up the pace. He crosses the parking lot, gravel crunching under his shoes, and makes it to his room. Once inside, he locks both the door lock and the dead bolt. 

\-   
The next day Mox stays in his room watching TV. The TV service was great considering it was a cheap motel. He got a lot of good channels, even catching a rerun of a Reds game from the previous night. He leaves only briefly in the afternoon hours, long enough to grab himself food from a small local burger joint that sat next to the motel. 

It's well into the night hours – the digital chock on the nightstand says midnight – and Mox still isn't asleep. He's tossed and turned trying in vain to sleep but his insomnia was acting up. Sleep just would not come. The need for a cigarette was starting to grow along with his nerves with every passing minute. “Fuck,” giving up on trying, Mox rolls out of bed, grabbing his key and his cigarettes. He steps outside, cancer stick already hanging from his mouth. He's ready to flick the lighter when he catches sight of a no smoking sign. Had this been any other time, Mox would have said “fuck it” to the rules but instead he just breaths out a sigh and makes his way around the side of the motel. There's a security light shining dimly down onto a bare patch of dirt and he could see the many butts of extinguished cigarettes indicating that this must have been the designated smoking area. He flicks the lighter, igniting the filter. He sucks in, drawing in the nicotine. Blowing out the smoke, Mox leans against the wall. He could feel his nerves settling with each puff. 

“That's a nasty habit you've got there,” the voice startles Mox and he visibly jumps, looking around wildly. His eyes land on a figure standing in the shadows not to far from him. The figure steps from the shadow and Mox's heart leaps, it was the Hawaiian shirt guy from the bar. He's wearing a different Hawaiian shirt this time, red and black instead of colorful, and he's not wearing his hat. He's smiling though and regards Mox for a few moments before asking, “Did I scare you darlin?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I'm not sure if A03 resends out emails/notifications when I edit a chapter but I did have to add something upon reviewing the chapter this morning.

“No!” It's meant to be a growl but it comes out as high pitched and shaky. It doesn't sound convincing in the slightest and Mox cringes, grits his teeth. It was a lie to begin with but he had at least wanted it to sound like he wasn't. This guy obviously doesn't believe it either because Mox can see an amused smile on his face. 

“You sure darlin?” He asks, taking a step closer and Mox tenses as he does. He watches this guy warily to see what his next move is going to be. 

“Absofuckinglutely,” he answers lifting his chin, this time his voice holds the bravido he's put up. He shifts from foot to foot, chancing a look around the area. There was always the chance that this guy was distracting him so the other two could sneak up on him. The bartender's warning had been weighting on his mind. So far, it looked like it was just the two of them. His actions didn't do unnoticed by the second party though. 

“My boys aren't here,” the guy offers, drawing Mox's attention back to him. “I left them back at home. It's just you and me,” he dares another step forward. The distance between them was maybe a good foot or so. Close enough for a punch to connect. Too damn close. 

Mox realizes that the same moment he realizes the position he's now in and the position this guy has taken up. His back is against the wall of the motel while his escape route is effectively being blocked. Between a rock and a hard place and Mox is sure that the hard place could put up one hell of a fight if he wanted. His nerves, which had started to settle, start up again. His hands start shaking slightly and his shoulder twitches as the nervous energy builds. 

And it is like this guy seems to know what's going down because he give a small frown before sifting to the side so the way is no longer blocked. Mox is surprised but suspicious. He doesn't move a muscle from his spot. The guy even puts his hands in his pockets. “Really darlin' I'm-” he starts to say but is cut off when Mox snaps.

“Stop fucking calling me that!”

“What? Darlin'?” There is definitely a playful gleam in this guys eyes now, “Well if you insist little lamb.” 

What the fuck does this guy want? The thought goes through Mox's head as he grits his teeth, growling, “Don't call me that either!” 

“Why not?”

The question is asked in a voice that sounds innocent but this guy is smirking at him. Mox wants to march across the foot or so of ground between them and plant his fist right against this guy's face. This guy is playing with him. Actually toying with him. He doesn't move and settles for balling his fists and glaring, “'S not my name that's why.”

“Ah well I do offer my sincerest apologies,” He voice sounds anything but sorry as he give a small bow. He has a smirk back on his face that just positively lights Mox up with anger. “What is your name? So I may get it right.”  
“None of your god damned business, buddy,” Mox is fuming. This guy isn't here for his head. That much is obvious since it's been a good twenty or so minutes and he's still standing. But that leaves the question of why he is here. Surely there has to be a reason other than being an annoying prick. 

“Bray.” the guy corrects, placing a hand on his chest, eyes locking with Mox's, “My name is Bray Wyatt and you,” he points at Mox, “you are the prettiest little darlin lamb that I have ever laid eyes on.”

Mox freezes. He can do nothing but stare dumbly at Bray, who still has his eyes on him unblinking. For once in his life, Mox is at a loss for words. He's doesn't even know how to respond. He's never been had someone initially flirt with him first and this is what this guy is doing. The air shifts between them and Mox doesn't know what to do. He feels like he needs to say something. Tell this guy to fuck off or something. 

Bray comes closer and reaches out, taking his hand. He watches wide eyed and frozen in place as his hand is turned and lifted up to Bray's lips. A kiss is planted on the back of his hand. The skin tingling at the contact. 

Mox feels the heat rush to his cheeks. Knows he's blushing, something he doesn't do. He tell himself that he needs to pull his hand back. Needs to do something other than stand there. His brain's not working though. Bray's eyes are locked with his, burning and intense. Holding him. Bray's hand on his is warm. It feels.....right. The moment is brief and Bray is pulling away from him, letting go of his hand. Mox blinks, ignoring the small voice inside him that calls for him to reach out and grab the man.

"I'll be seein' you darlin'" Bray says as he withdraws and backs away. Mox watches him as he slips into the shadows and disappears.

He waits until his heart settles in his chest and the heat cools from his cheeks before he looks down at the hand that still held his cigarette. It's burnt down to the filter. Wasted. Normally he'd be mad about a waste of nicotine but somehow he can't bring himself to be. He notices that his hands, which had been shaking before, were now still. He throws the bud down, stomping it into the dirt before he turns and heads back to the front of the motel.

As much as he wants to deny it, he can't help but feel that there was something between him and Bray. He certainly can't deny that there is a flutter of something that he feels and he hates it. 

-

A few days pass after the encounter with Bray. Mox attempts to put the encounter out of his mind for the most part. He does steer clear the bar though and he keeps his guard up when he takes his nightly smoke breaks. Bray does not visit him again though. There is a slight twinge of disappointment that sneaks up on him the first night that Bray does not show but Mox squashes it immediately. No, he was not secretly hoping that Bray would materialize out of the shadows to bug him. There was no way he was hoping that the man, if he were to show up, would do more than just stand there and talk. And he certainly wasn't thinking about that man maybe shoving him again the wall of the motel and well - no! Absolutely not. No way. That's what Mox tells himself every night that Bray hasn't showed by the time he's finished his cigarette - or two since some nights he decides that he finished his first one way to fast - and heads back to his room. 

During the days, Mox busies himself with walking around the town. He figures that if he's going to be staying here for an extended period of time then he'd might as well get to know the place a bit more just in case trouble decided to show itself. Normally he'd never be the one to be prepared but in a town where there was nothing else to do, it seemed like a good idea. 

One evening, about three days after the Bray encounter, he is returning to the motel from a walk through the town. It is late afternoon and the sun is just beginning to dip below the tree line to the west. Long shadows are starting to stretch across the parking lot of the motel. Mox gets halfway across the parking lot before the door to the motel's office opens and six men step out with the voice of the office manager threatening to call the police if they didn't leave following them out. He recognizes three of them at once. They're the goons that he had beef with in Cincinnati. How the fuck did they find him? They stop in their tracks when they spot him. “Hey!” “That's him! That's the guy!” “Let's get him!” 

They start to advance toward him. All six of them. The three that recognized were about his size but the other three were much larger than him. There is no way he could take then all on. He can see the office manager on the phone in the office, probably with the police, but these guys were advancing, drawing closer by the second. Mox couldn't wait around or he'd be one the receiving end of one nasty beating. So he does the only thing he can. He turns tail and for a second time he runs.

Even with the advantage of being familiar with the town, Mox still can't seem to shake the goons. No matter which way he turns or which streets and alleys he weaves down, across, and through they don't lose him and actually start gaining ground. They chase him all the way to the edge of town where the buildings and streets give way to the forest. Mox has no choice and with one glance back to see them coming he heads into the trees. He hears them following him. He can hear their feet snapping twigs and their curses as the undergrowth snags their clothes. He presses on, weaving through undergrowth until he does lose them. He pauses to check and is greeted only with silence and the occasional insect or bird call. He sighs in relief that only lasts momentarily before he realizes that he has no idea where he's actually at in relevance to the town. He doesn't remember what direction he came from. He's lost in the woods, in Louisiana, with night rapidly falling. 

Muttering curses under his breath, Mox picks a random direct and starts to walk, hoping to come across some stroke of really lucky dumb luck and stumble back into town. He doesn't really know what he's going to do when he gets back though. Surely those goons will be sitting on the motel now that they know he's staying there., just waiting to catch him when he returns. He still doesn't know how they found him. He hasn't even had any contact with Sami while he's been here so no one should've known where he was. The only conclusion he could come up with was that they just got damn lucky with their guess. He hears something faint and stops walking. He stand still, not even daring to breath too loud in hopes of catching the sound again.

 _“Come. This way.”_ It's very faint that he can barely make it out. It's a woman's voice, he can tell that much, and her voice is soft and oddly soothing. He looks around, trying to catch sight of anyone but there is nothing, no one but him. He shakes his head, thinking that his mind is playing tricks on him. He takes another step in the direction he was heading but as he does so the voice sounds again this time a bit louder and Mox could swear that he feels hands on his chest even though he is the only one there.  
_“No. This way. Come.”_ The voice says again, a soft command. There is a pull on his wrist. Almost like there was a hand wrapped around it even though there clearly isn't. It's not a forceful pull, more like a gentle small tug and really without knowing why or without even thinking about it, Mox finds himself following. The voice sounds in his ears again, pleased, _“Good. This way.”_

-

Mox isn't sure how long he's been walking but he knows it's has been a long time. There is less light now and it is getting very hard to see very far in front of him.He's starting to doubt that he's heading the right direction at all. 

_“We're here,”_ the voice drifts to him as if it knew what Mox was thinking about and he looks around, taking in what little of his surroundings that he could make out. The undergrowth and trees were thinner here and he was close enough to a pine to see that there was a symbol carved in its bark. He moves closer, squinting in the darkness to get a better view. It was some kind of combination of what looked to be a large bird and a lantern.

 _“Straight ahead.”_ The voice urges and Mox feels the slight pressure on his back as if invisible hands were nudging him. He hesitates. It suddenly crosses his mind that he was in the middle of the fucking woods, at night, following a ghostly voice, that may or may not be his mind fucking with him, that is is leading him to fuck knows where. The pressure on his back increases slightly, forcing him to take a step forward.

“Alright, alright,” He grumbles, stepping past the tree and continues on straight as he was instructed. 

He walks for a while longer. It's getting very hard to see where he's putting his feet. He starts to think that he was probably losing his mind and that this was going to be the end of him. He could see his headstone now. Here lies Jon Moxley. Cause of death: fucker got lost in a forest and eaten by a bear. He hears a twig snap behind him. He has no time to do anything but let out a startled yelp before a heavy weight slams into him from behind. He loses his footing and falls, catching himself with his hands. He starts trying to scramble away on his hands and knees but he's not fast enough. 

Large, thick arms wrap themselves around his upper body following a deep bellow of "Where do you think you're going?" He's lifted in the air, kicking and yelling and cursing. His kicks do nothing to stop his attacker as they start moving off in the direction that Mox had been heading. His arms are pinned to his body by the arms constricting him and the constriction gets tighter the more he struggles. He struggles to draw breaths the tighter the constriction get but he doesn't stop trying to get free. 

He does stop when he sees lights through the trees right before a couple cabins come into view. There is one large cabin with a porch sitting in the middle of a small clearing. Several more smaller cabins scattered around it. Each cabin has a burning lantern hanging from it. There are several more hanging on poles around the clearing, illuminating it. The guy marches up to the bottom of the large cabin's steps and stops calling out. At the guy's call, people start to pour from the smaller cabins and even from the edges of the woods. They gather around the front of the large cabin, creating a half circle. Men, women, and even some children. 

As Mox stares at them, he starts to get the feeling that he knows where he's at. His attention snaps back to the large cabin when the door swings opens. Black Beard and the guy – Erick- walk out onto the porch. Black Beard is holding a very large hunting knife in his hand and there is a glean of absolute glee in his eyes as he catches sight of Mox. Erick has no weapon but his eyes light up too. Mox's stomach drops. His heart flips when Bray appears seconds behind them. 

He can see surprise flash in Bray's eyes when he sees him but it's gone in a second and it doesn't do anything for the fear that's starting to set in. _"No one crosses the Wyatt Family and walks away"_ Bray takes his eyes off him to address the man holding him, “Braun you may drop him.”

Seconds later he is unceremoniously released and he stumbles, nearly falling. He gasps and coughs as he draws oxygen back into his body. He turns to look at Braun. “You motherfucker I'm going to kick your ass for that.” is all he can get out in a breathless huff that was supposed to be a snarl. The reply he gets in return is a smirk from the larger man as if daring him to try.

Before Mox can get enough of his bearing back to attempt it, Bray has descended the stairs and is standing between the two of them. He shoots Braun a quick glance before turning to face Mox. Mox feels twinges of electricity course through him the moment his and Bray's eyes meet. He scowls pushing them back and takes a step forward, bring him right in Bray's personal space. Chest to chest. Face to face. Braun moves behind Bray, takes a step forward and Bray shoots a hand out, a silent command. He stops, shooting an unhappy look at Bray before stepping back. Mox narrows his eyes, glaring. Bray stares back at him calmly, his lips quirking up in a small smile. They stand there, Mox trying to push back his fear while Bray starts to look more and more amused until someone speaks. 

“Bray, what do you want us to do with that?” the question comes from the porch and when Mox turns to look, he sees Black Beard and Erick had descended the stairs and were standing along with several other bearded men at the bottom of the stairs. Black Beard is looking at Bray - they're all looking at Bray - waiting for an answer. " _The one with the hat is their leader."_ Mox looks at Bray. The man looks thoughtful and if he's thinking about it. It hits him then that he's really at Bray's mercy. He has very little chance of escape here with the amount of people that are actually here, all of them loyal to this man. Fighting his way out is also out of the question. There are too many and Mox has the suspicion that a few of them probably have weapons akin to the hunting knife that Black Beard is still brandishing. Besides, even if he does manage to get away, he has no place to go except back into the woods. Getting lost again isn't something he wants to do, especially since it's night now. 

Bray doesn't ponder the question long and Mox watches as he walks past him and begins to walk back toward the cabin. Mox feels the panic start to set in, and he tenses ready for the attack to be issued. It doesn't happen. Instead Bray gets to the group of men, who part to let him through, and looks over his shoulder at Mox, says, “Follow me.” 

He hesitates. Looks around. Immediately notices Braun taking a step toward him as if daring him to do anything other than follow. He glares at the large man, flipping him off for good measure too before he turns and starts for the cabin. He's stared at, hard, when he walks through the parted gap of men but he ignores them, climbing the stairs to where Bray is waiting at the door. 

The door is opened for him and he is ushered inside while Bray turns to the men, telling them to go back to what they had been doing and also issuing an order for Black Beard and Erick, who had started for the steps, to join Braun to patrolling the borders. Mox stands in what he assumes is the living room of the cabin. It's not really all that large. There isn't much for furniture; two faded worn and torn couches that look very old, a reclining chair that looks about as old as the couches and just as worn down, and a rocking chair. There is one doorway leading to what looks like a small kitchen and another that leads to a hallway. The walls are bare with a few dents and small holes here and there like objects had been thrown at it at some point and time. There was a picture hanging on the far wall. Mox could tell it was old by the way the picture was faded. He could just make out a woman in the frame. The sound of the door closing draws his attention from his observation. He watches as Bray makes his way across the room and sits in the rocking chair. The bearded man leans back and starts to slowly rock himself, eyes landing on him from where he's standing in the middle of the room in front of one of the couches. He shifts nervously under the piercing gaze. 

“Well darlin' what brings you to my neck of the woods?” its a question that Mox had been anticipating. 

“It ain't by choice trust me,” he huffs, reaching up to run his fingers across his collar bone over his shirt. It's his way of calming himself thought it hardly helps now. He's tense. “Got lost in the woods, stumbled across the big guy out there. All I need is to be pointed in the right direction and I can be out of here. Let you get back to your...uh...whatever you were doing before I got brought in.”

“Wandering around these woods at night is mighty foolish,” Bray informs, stops rocking to lean forward and rest his arms on his knees. He smiles, “Lots of dangerous things out there. Real nasty things. Sending you out there to your certain doom isn't something I fancy doing tonight darlin'.” 

Mox opens his mouth, ready to tell Bray that he's able enough to handle himself. The words are on the tip of his tongue but before he can say anything he hears her voice sounds in his ear again. The same voice that lead him here. “Relax. Stay.” It's soft but firm. It is clearer than earlier as if she were in the room with him. He glances around but it's still just Bray and himself. He feels the presence. The feel that someone is standing beside him even though the spot next to him is vacant. It's a soothing presence, like a blanket being draped over his shoulders. It's calming and Mox feels himself start to relax even though it's the last thing he wants to do. He looks back to where Bray is still seated. He's leaned back in the chair. There is a look in his eyes that Mox can't identify and he staring at Mox. 

Mox shifts again, is about to ask what his problem is but before he can the door to the cabin opens and Black Beard and Erick come filing in with Braun close behind them. All three men fix their eyes on him. They all look as if the idea of him here was a concept that they couldn't quite grasp. Like Bray asking him in was something that didn't happen very often, if at all.Mox doesn't even want to think about what happens to people who trespass here. _"beaten or worse"_

“Borders clear?” Bray's question draws the three men's attention from him, thankfully. Their eyes fix on Bray. Black Beard nods and says in a voice that is much softer than Mox would have expected from a man of his size. 

“Yes they are clear. No unwanted trespassers,” Mox doesn't miss his eyes cutting to him as he says the last words. Except one. It's not said but Mox isn't stupid. He starts to bristle, readies himself to make some smart remark about not wanting to be here either. Bray is up out of the chair and walking toward them before he can say anything. 

“Thank you Luke,” So that's Black Beard's name huh? “Braun you are dismissed,” the big guy wordlessly leaves the cabin, door clicking closed behind him. It's just the four of them now. Bray turns to him, “As for you darlin',” he scowls at the nickname and Bray smiles before nodding toward the doorway that leads to the hallway, “if you'll follow me, I'll show you to a room you may stay in tonight. In the morning we will see about getting you back to town.” 

Mox follows this time. He is more than ready to be away from the looks Luke and Erick are now giving him. Angered looks. Once in the hall, he breaths a sigh. Bray leads him to a room at the end of the hall, opening the door to reveal a rather large bedroom with an adjoining bathroom. Mox enters the room, looking around wide eyed. There is a lantern lighting this room as well. 

“There is running water so feel free to wash up if you'd like,” Bray says from where he's standing in the doorway, adding when he gets a narrowed look, “We do have a generator darlin'. You may blow out the lantern or leave it burning, it will be fine, no fire threat. I do advise you to stay in this cabin unless I am with you. No one will bother you in here. But as you've probably guessed by now, my people aren't exactly welcoming to trespassers. Too many people have come here spouting false truths and false promises or just to cause trouble. Straying to far might just get you in trouble. Understand?” 

“Understood.” Mox says, turning to face Bray, "Don't plan on going anywhere cept back to town in the morning. Scouts honor." Silence falls between them and Mox expects Bray to leave but he just stands there, staring. His expression is unreadable. Mox coughs, murmuring out a, “Well night then.” 

He watches Bray dip his head slightly giving a grin that is all teeth, his eyes sparkling in the light as he says, “Sweet dreams little lamb.” 

The door is then closed with a soft click and Mox is left standing in the room, scowling. 

He hears Bray's steps on the wooden floor as he retreats down the hall and breathes out a sigh. What the fuck has he gotten himself into? He crosses the room and heads into the bathroom, slipping out of his shirt. Wash up and bed. That's what he needs right now. In the morning he can get back to his motel, figure out how to get his stuff and get out of town before those goons catch him. 

-  
Bray rejoins Luke and Erick in the living room once he has showed Mox to the room. He is not surprised when Luke immediately starts asking questions. He could tell they were not happy. He knew the whole of the compound was still unsettled. He could feel it. 

“Why are you letting him stay? He is a trespasser. He should be dealt with.” Luke meant well. Bray knows his concern is for the protection of the family. Trespassers have always meant trouble. They come to cause trouble or try to make them stray from the path that she had laid out. And until today, Bray has never failed to let his boys take care of these trespassers or anyone else who crossed them. Sometimes though, Luke can be too bold. He would never disobey Bray's commands but that has never stopped him from sometimes questioning them. Mostly it's an attempt to try to figure out why Bray made them. It's not a bad quality to have. Bray understands that sometimes his followers could not see the things he could. 

So once Bray settles himself back into his rocking chair, he levels a calm gaze on Luke and explains. “He is a trespasser. That is true. He came onto our lands. But he is not like the others that have come here. He is not trying to divert us from out path nor is he here to cause trouble. He is here because he was lead here.”

“Lead here?” Bray can almost see the gears turning in Luke's head as he processes what he's been told. He sees it click when Luke comes to a conclusion and Luke's eyes turn murderous. Bray knows he's thinking that it was someone from town who gave the direction. Sometimes his followers could not see the picture he's trying to paint for them either.

He shakes his head lifting his arm up, to point at the picture on the wall. “It was Abigail who lead him here. She guided him to our borders. I felt her come to him when he was standing here,” he gestures to the spot where Mox had been standing in front of the couch, “She was whispering to him.” 

Luke's murderous expression changes to one of confusion as Bray speaks. “But why would she lead him here?” he questions further and Erick starts to pull urgently on his shirt sleeve. It's a warning for him to stop. He's getting close to a line and Bray is aware that he knows it. It's a line that no one crosses. Questioning Abigail's motives is just something Bray will not tolerate. The repercussions of doing so always ends in a blood mess. Luke ignores Erick, his eyes focused on Bray's stern gaze, “Why would she whisper to a street rat?” 

Bray lets out a sigh but doesn't answer. His gaze flickers to her picture on the wall. It is tempting to put Luke in his place. To remind him that he himself had once been thought of as a pesky vermin to be exterminated before he had been lead to salvation by Abigail but he holds his tongue. Luke is just confused. He's trying to understand her motives.  
His own mind drifts back to the dream he had a few weeks ago. She had come to him, whispering about a little lamb. Had said that this lamb would be unlike anything that Bray had ever seen before, that this lamb would be something special. She told him to watch for this lamb and he would know it when he saw it. 

He too had been confused but he never questioned Abigail. He dutifully had kept his eyes open for this lamb for two weeks. He'd spent a good amount of his time in town. More time than he normally would. And he had instructed his boys to bring any trespassers to him before they were dealt with. For two weeks he waited, watched, listened, and he had not seen the lamb. He had started to think that he'd somehow missed it.

It wasn't until he'd stepped into the bar that night and laid eyes on the dirty blond haired man that Erick had pinned on the floor and was wailing away on that he understood. The mix of emotions that had flooded him was nearly overwhelming. Attraction and fascination that he'd never felt before. Annoyance and rage at the action that was being taken against this man. He felt a strong possessive urge to protect. It all swirled within him, hitting him harder than any punch he'd endured. He'd called Erick off, a move that he knew had shocked everyone, including his boys. He felt their bewilderment and confusion as they moved past him to leave once he'd ordered them to.

He'd then turned to follow them, trying to ignore everything inside of him that was straining toward the man still sprawled on the floor. He couldn't help but glace back, could practically hear his blood singing in his veins as he took in the others face. It was flushed, a combination of the alcohol he'd consumed and attempts at defending himself against Erick. Strands of dirty blond hair were stuck to his forehead while the rest of his hair was a disheveled mess. It was a beautiful sight. Their eyes had locked then and Bray felt the sparks shoot up his spine. He knew instantly that this was the lamb that Abigail had told him about. Those blue eyes were dazed momentarily as if he were affected by Bray's presence but he shook it off and then they were burning with fury. Those full lips twisted into a snarl. His very soul turned in a burning brightness that was damn near blinding. Bray couldn't help but smile at its beauty. He had to force himself to leave before he crossed the bar and joined the man on the floor. 

The feelings would not leave him though. His very being was crying out for this man and the more distance he put between them louder it seemed to get. He and his boys had returned to the compound. But no matter how much Bray tried, nor how much he willed himself, the urge would not leave him. He had started pacing the entirety of the living room ignoring the looks of concern that Luke and Erick giving him. Eventually, it became too much and he found himself heading for the door. The travel from the compound back to town was a blur. He had caught up with the man right as he was about to cross the parking lot, heading for the motel. He could tell the moment he was sensed as the guy quickened his pace and disappeared in his room- number thirteen Bray had noted. A smile appeared on Bray's face. 

He had stood in the shadows for a long time. He didn't really know why he was hanging around just watching but he felt the need to. He wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed but he knew it was more than an hour or so. Eventually he did return to the compound but it had been a restless night and even more restless the next day. His entire mood put the whole of the compound in a state of unease but he ignored his. His thoughts were on town and the man in it. He had to see him again. Get close enough to exchange words. As night fell, Bray retreated back into his room to pace rather than do so in the living room and have to deal with Erick and Luke watching with concern. It is in the middle of his pacing that he feels the all to familiar pull, the guiding hand that has lead him so many years. He knew where it wanted him to go and he would gladly. He had slipped from his room and left the compound, making a b line for the motel.

“Bray?” It is Erick's voice that pulls Bray from his thoughts. He and Luke were still standing in the living room. Erick looked concerned while Luke had a mix of resignation and annoyance on his face. It dons on that he never answered the question.

He blinks, shaking his head. "Abigail does not always makes her intentions known right away. But her choices are not mine nor yours to question Luke. She will let us know the reason why when she is ready," Bray already knows why but he doesn't really feel like sharing that at the moment. It's not something Luke would understand anyway. Luke does nod at his explanation though, looking satisfied with the answer. Bray gives a nod of his own before he waves a hand at them, dismissively, “You two may go. Good night.” 

“G'night.” “Night.” Both Erick and Luke disappear down the hall, heading for their own rooms. Both doors shut minutes later. 

Bray stays in his chair, slowly rocking himself. His eyes focus on the flame in the lantern as it flickers and burns. His thoughts on the man that was in the last room at the end of the hall. His room. He lets his head fall back against the back of the chair, eyes slipping closed. He never was one who slept much at all so this would do just fine for him. His rocking chair was comfortable enough. He let the rhythmic rocking lull him to the edge of full unconsciousness. It's when he's starting to drift off that he feels her presence wash over him, warm and comforting and he hears her honey sweet voice whisper in his ear,  
_“Such a precious little lamb.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took me so long to get this chapter done! 
> 
> Originally it was going to be a whole lot longer than what it ended up being but I got into a stretch where words weren't working for me and finally it seems like I'm over it for now. 
> 
> The next chapter shouldn't take me near as long to do but I make no promises. 
> 
> Anyhow, I do hope you enjoy!

It's early dawn, the intermittent between night and day that has the world painted in a light gray hue. The stars are still visible faintly but they are fading as the sky starts to shift from black to blue. Orange and red color the clouds in the distance, signaling that the sun has started its ascension and will soon crest the horizon and signal the start of the day. For now though, everything is still, silent. Nothing has begun stirring just yet. Even the insects are quiet. 

Bray is standing on the porch, has been for a while, just enjoying the serene peace. He remains where he's standing, watches as the first rays of sunlight start to filter into the clearing through the trees. He listens as the word around him starts to awake. Squirrels start to scurry from their nests, running up and down the trees barking at one another and anything else that catches their watchful eyes. The undergrowth moves as small animals rummage through it looking for their morning meals. The bird's songs start to sound, melodies mixing together into a beautiful tune as it filters into the clearing. From within the cabin behind him, there is rummaging signaling that someone was now away. 

There is footsteps at the door just seconds before it is opened and Erick emerges. Bray turns to him, nodding a greeting. Erick nods back and comes to stand at Bray's side, glancing upward at the sky. 

“Beautiful morning,” He comments softly, watching as a butterfly flutters past on its way to a patch of flowers that were growing at the edge of the clearing. The children liked to play in the patch when the sunlight reached it. 

“Indeed it is,” Bray agrees, turning his own eyes skyward. He senses that there is something that Erick wishes to say and he waits patiently to see if the other would bring it up or not. 

“The-” Erick starts but stops, face scrunching up as he tries to find the right words to say. He finds them after a few minutes and continues, “The guy who is not us...” Bray has his eyes turned to Erick, listening, “he was the one who.... the reason that you were in a bad mood the other day.” It wasn't a question but an observation. 

Erick understood things, was able to pick up on things, a lot quicker than Luke. He is able to piece together the pieces of the puzzle while giving no indication that he's done so. He plays naive and unknowing half of the time, choosing either not to add what is on his mind or unsure if his doing so would be met with reprimand. It is the result of his upbringing and something that Bray had been working on getting him over gradually. Like now, he's got his eyes focused on the floorboards, waiting for Bray's response and fearing that it is going to be a reprimand even thought he knows it won't be. 

“I wasn't in a bad mood,” Bray explains, watching as people start to emerge from the other smaller cabins in the clearing, “I was confused because I did not understand at first. But I am not confused anymore.”

“Confused?” 

Bray nods, turning to acknowledge Luke when he joins them on the porch before turning back to Erick. “Yes. Abigail came to me and told me to keep an eye out for a special lamb that would be visiting. She told me that I would know it when I saw it. And he,” Bray points to the cabin, indicating Mox, “is it.”

“Is it wise to allow him to return to town now though? He knows where we are. He could give away our location.” Luke did have a point there. Normally it wouldn't even been a question that needed to be asked. Those not loyal to the family simply had no reason knowing the whereabouts of the compound.   
Could always make him stay. Bray ignores the little voice that sounds in his head and ignores the joy that surges up at the thought of the lab staying and even maybe standing at his side. Keeping the man here was a valid possibility. He wouldn't escape. Somehow though that didn't feel like it was something that he was supposed to do. 

“I don't think it will be a problem,” he says, “I'm positive that he'll stay out of the woods in the future and if he did dare attempt to venture back here, he'd more than most likely get lost again,” Unless Abigail showed him the way again. “We have nothing to fear from him.” 

Both men were nodding at his words. 

The sun is fully above the horizon now, covering almost all of the clearing in sunlight now. The squeals and laughter of the children sounds filling the clearing. It brings a smile to Bray's face. He watches as the children run across the clearing, making a b-line for the patch of flowers that were now bathed in sunlight. Their mothers followed and watched them play at a distance. He watches for a few more minutes, as the whole compound becomes busy before turning back to his cabin. 

“Tell Braun to take one of the others with him this morning to check the borders. I want you two to stay close and accompany me in taking the lamb back to town when he is ready,” he says over his shoulder as he heads for the door. 

“Yes Bray.” 

– 

Mox is awoken by the faint sounds of the squeals and laughter of children. He blinks, momentarily confused as to his whereabouts. This wasn't his apartment in Cincinnati nor the motel. He sits up, staring around the room. The foggy sleep-filled haze clears from his mind and he remembers, the events of the previous day flood back to him along with a fresh wave of worry. Those goons had found him when he was sure they wouldn't. They had somehow been able to track him to this small backwoods town and he had no idea how they managed that. It had to have been pure dumb luck. No one else knew where he was at. 

He sits up, stretching. His joints give a satisfying crack and he lets out a content sigh before flinging the covers back and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. That was the first actual read good nights rest that he'd gotten in a long time. Normally sleeping through the night was a thing that Mox just didn't get to experience without the help from alcohol or pills. And even then it was iffy. Usually his own insomnia coupled with nightmares made sleep impossible. 

Yet here he was, well rested. He shakes his head, telling himself that he had just been tired from his trek in the woods. Worrying always made him tired, which was why he didn't bother with it much. He definitely wasn't going to acknowledge the presence that he'd felt last night in the living room and he certainly wasn't about to think about the voice that had been whispering in his ear. Nope absolutely not. 

He's made it from the bathroom and is slipping his shirt back on when a knock at the door sounds moments before the door is creaking open and Bray is peaking in the room. Mox tries to ignore how his stomach flutters when the other man's eyes light up upon seeing him. 

“Good morning darlin'” Bray greets cheerfully, stepping fully into the room, closing the door behind him, “Wasn't sure if you'd be up just yet.” He walks across the room until he's a foot from Mox, much like he'd done when he first approached Mox beside the motel. He stops and Mox can feel those eyes of his observe him closely. “You look well rested,” an observation, “you sleep well?” 

“I..... uh.... yeah. Yeah I did,” Mox nods, feeling awkward. He's not used to people being concerned with the amount of sleep he did or didn't get. This is new. Something that's foreign to him. And he blames that on the reason why the next words fall from his lips. Words that he normally didn't say. ever, “Hey uh thanks for letting me.... you know.... stay.” 

“It was my pleasure darlin'” Bray is all smiles and politeness and it does something funny to the fluttering in Mox's stomach. Mox watches as the other dares another step forward, bringing the two of them a lot closer. 

The airs shifts between them again. Becomes something... more intense. Mox is frozen to the spot and watches as Bray's eyes dip down to his lips before meeting his eyes again. He watches with baited breath as Bray slowly reaches a hand up and lightly touches his cheek. Sparks ignite under his skin where Bray's fingertips meet his skin. It feels...nice. And then those fingers start to move, sliding gently across his skin with sparks following.

The whimper that is drawn from his own mouth is what startles him out of the trance he hadn't know he had fallen into. He takes a step back, putting distance between himself and Bray again. Getting away from that touch. Bray is watching him, expression one of complete fascination. He stands still, waiting to see what Mox is going to do. 

“I think that... maybe I'd like to return to town now,” Mox says, voice a whole lot quieter than it should have been. 

“Are you sure darlin'?” Bray looks almost as confused as Mox does at the words that fall from his mouth. He looks almost as if he hadn't meant to say them. As if they were supposed to have stayed in his head. 

Damn if Mox's stomach doesn't do a little flip at those words. Joy courses through him and it leaves him freaking lost. Why is he feeling like this? He doesn't even know this guy at all and this guy wasn't his type at all either. Mox didn't do creepy. It was just too much trouble. Trouble Mox didn't want to get into. He was in enough as it was. 

So Mox nods and forces himself to say in an even voice, “Yeah if you can spare a minute to point me in the right direction.” 

Bray nods back, licks his lips, “My boys and I will show you the way back.” He steps aside so Mox could go through the door first. 

–

Something was on Mox's mind and it was looming, getting larger and larger the closer they got to town.

Bray could sense it as well as see it in the way that the man started twitching slightly and the way his eyes grew more wary, darting around as if he expected something to jump out at him at any moment. He even grew silent, a stark contrast to how mouthy he'd been when they left, comments and questions of “I'm surprised I don't hear banjos playing” and “Why the fuck do you live out in the middle of fucking nowhere” non stop from his lips.   
Bray had humored him, telling him that it was still early for the banjos as those were best when played during the middle of the day or at night answering his questions with quick simple answers that just prompted more questions. It was one way to pass the time as they trekked through the wood, following a hidden yet well walked route that the family had traveled for years. 

But now they were a good mile from the town and Mox had stopped talking and was acting like a skittish dog. Bray wanted to comment on it, wanted to ask the man what was wrong but he didn't. It was none of his concern. He was sure that the man would not tell him anyway. He looked like the type that bottled things up, kept things to themselves until either self exploding or taking it out. 

The trees started to thin and Bray could hear the sound of a vehicle as it passed by on the road. Soon they were standing at the tree line right at the edge of town. He expected the other man to leave once town came into view but instead he stood, fidgeting and staring ahead. He was hesitating. 

–

The unease in the pit of Mox's stomach grew with every step that he took in the direction of town. He didn't have a clue what he would be walking into and the unexpected was something Mox liked to be not what he liked to deal with. His mind had become clouded with the what ifs when Bray had announced they were about halfway there. 

What if those goons were waiting when they emerged? What if they were still in the woods, just waiting to see his face? What if they were sitting on his hotel room? He'd even pondered if it he should ask Bray to come with him to the hotel. Surely with the intimidating looking men at his side, those goons would think twice about fucking with him. But his own stubbornness coupled with the possibility that Bray would probably say no kept the question from being asked. 

His nervousness only increased when they reached the tree line. He hesitated, eyes darting around. The unease was swirling in the pit of his stomach, making him feel sick. He felt himself twitching with the nervous energy that was gathering. 

“Darlin?” Bray's voice oddly cut through the haze of unease and cleared it somewhat. Mox noticed that he was regarding him with a slightly questioning and concerned look as if he knew something was wrong but couldn't piece it together. He hadn't asked, which was fine since Mox didn't feel like sharing his problems, especially not with some stranger he didn't know. 

“Don't call me that,” Mox grumbles, ignoring how his own lips quirked at Bray's immediate smile. He took a few steps out of the tree line before looking back. Bray and his boys hadn't moved. Mox chewed on his bottom lip, debating once more if he should see if he could get the man to follow him to his motel room. He ultimately decided against it. “Uh... thanks... again... for showing me the way back.” He says lamely, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants and offering a crooked half smile. 

“My pleasure darlin'” Bray says with a slight bow, looking at Mox and grinning, “Try to stay out of the woods though. You might not get so lucky as you were this time a second time.” 

The warning was clear even though Bray said it with no animosity, Mox could tell it was there. 

“Will do,” He gives a little salute before turning on his heel and starting for an alleyway. He makes it all the way across the short distance of open ground – where town turned to woods – and too the alley way before he chanced a look back. Bray way still standing there, watching. He was too far away to clearly see the other man's face clearing but he could feel that those piercing blue eyes were focused on him. He throws his hand up one last time before walking down the alley and disappearing from view.


	4. Chapter 4

Mox peeks around the corner. The parking lot of the motel stretched out in front of him, completely empty save the car that belonged to the manager that was parked close to the office. He looked around, no one was loitering visibly. The coast seemed to be clear. He heaves out a sigh and steps around the corner and starts for the parking lot. 

He had made it the whole way across the parking lot up to his room and has his key out and ready to unlock the door when the office door opens and the manager comes rushing out. 

“Oh thank goodness you're back! Are you okay?” She asks but doesn't allow him time enough to answer before she starts talking again, “I was so worried that those men had caught you. Was hopin' that you wouldn't come back before I could get rid of them. They came in, showed me your picture, said they were lookin' for you. I told em that I hadn't seen anyone that looked like you around here and they was just leavin' when you was walkin' across the parkin' lot.” 

“Wait... you what?” Mox is confused. Why would this lady cover for him? Why would she lie to those goons when she didn't know him at all? 

She smiles as his confusion, says with a glint in her eye, “Hon I run my motel very discreetly. Especially when it comes to my tenants and their privacy. I don't ask any questions because it ain't my business so long as I get paid and my rooms ain't trashed. And I sure don't go around tellin' just any and every one whose rentin' one of my rooms.” 

“What happened to those men then?” Mox asks, still a bit taken aback by this lady. He'd never come across any other hotel manager that would protect their tenants like that. Certainly didn't happen in Cincinnati. 

“Well I was on the phone with the sheriff when they spotted you and took off after you,” She explains, “When he showed up, I pointed him in the direction that y'all went. He found em coming out of the woods at the edge of town and hauled em all down to the station. He came back and told me that they said you had ran into the woods. Told me to look out for you when you came back. I kept lookin' for you but you didn't come back. I was worried that something bad had happened to you out there.” 

There was something in her voice when she said that, it sounded like a trace of fear. “Yeah.. I uh stayed in the woods until night fell and then I snuck back into town and slept in an alley on the outskirts.” He didn't feel the need to tell her the truth. Somehow he didn't think it would go over well. “I didn't want to risk coming back and running into them again in the dark. I was just coming back this morning to get my stuff. I can't stay here now that they know where I am. Need to move on. They'll be back.” 

“Poor dear,” There is a look of sympathy on the manager's face as she reaches out to lightly touch his arm and Mox has to fight not to flinch away from the gentle touch, “I am so sorry. You get your things and I will go tallying up your bill for you. Mkay?” 

She turns away and disappears back into the office while Mox unlocks his room and steps inside. Everything was as he'd left it. He gathers up what little clothes he has and puts them back into his duffel bag. He makes sure he hasn't forgotten anything before leaving the room and going to the office. 

He's turning in his room key and paying what he owed when the door opens and the sheriff walks in. From the look the managers gives, it's obvious that she called. Mox stifles a sigh and turns to face the sheriff. The man was in his early to mid fifties at least. His hair was almost completely gray and wrinkles were visible on his face. Mox couldn't help to think that he looked oddly familiar. 

Mox shifts from foot to foot nervously. He never liked having run ins with the police – most of his past run ins had ended with him being in jail and having to call someone, nine times out of then it was Sami, to come get him. They just never ended good for him.

“Well I do say boy,” the sheriff says, looking Mox over, “you don't look any worse for wear. I'm glad to see that those men weren't lying when they said they didn't get you.” 

“Nah I was too fast for them,” Mox shrugs, looking down at the floor, “Got away from them before they even got close to me.” 

“They did seem highly agitated when I detained em,” the sheriff nods, “I held em 'til midnight then told em to get out of town and never come back. Kept askin' them why they were lookin' for you but I never got a straight answer. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me?” 

Once again Mox shrugs, still not meeting the sheriff's gaze, “I can't tell you man. Your guess is as good as mine.” It's a lie. A blatant one at that but Mox just doesn't feel like sharing. Cops have never been of any help to him in the past. He looks up, forcing himself to meet the searching gaze. 

“I see,” The sheriff narrows his eyes but nods. He doesn't question Mox further, instead, “I was a bit concerned when they told me that you had ran into the woods. The woods around here are dangerous, especially at night. Many residents don't dare venture into them at all. So many people who have went in there and gone too far. They never came back.” He doesn't specifically mention Bray and his family by name but it's clear enough as to why those people never returned. Mox had seen first hand how they reacted to trespassers. 

Mox doesn't feel the need to tell him that he'd actually been with the Wyatts so he repeats the same story he'd told the manager, how he'd come back into town and slept in an alley. 

“You don't look like you've been sleeping in an alley all night, you're mighty clean” the sheriff comments. He doesn't look convinced at all at Mox's story. 

“That's because I know how to sleep in an alley without getting filthy,” Mox replies with a frown, “Spent a lot of nights on the streets when I was a kid up in Cinci. Was just me and mom and we didn't have any where else to go.” 

The sheriff seemed to accept that, whether he believed it or not. The manager obviously did because she was looking sympathetically at Mox. 

“Well,” the sheriff sighs, “I'm glad that you made it back into town. My brother, the bartender, told me about your run in with the Wyatts the other night at the bar.” That would explain why the sheriff looked familiar. “He said you was the luckiest feller that he'd ever seen and after this I'd have to agree with him.” 

“Seems like it,” Mox agrees. He shifts, hands tightening around the strap of his duffel. He really needed to get going and put as much distance between this place and him as he could. Despite what the sheriff told them, he's sure they'll be back. 

The sheriff seems to notice too because he asks, “So you leaving?”

“Yeah,” Mox nods, “I need to move on. Put as much distance between them and me as I can. I don't expect them to just stay away since they found me. They don't really strike me as law abiding citizens either and I don't want to put anyone else in danger. I'll need to get ahead of them and lose them again.” 

“Need a lift to the edge of town?” 

It was a nice offer but Mox had a thing against riding in police cars. “Thanks but no thanks.” He starts for the door and is able to leave without being stopped. 

“Take care!” He hears the manager call after him as the door swings shut. 

Mox takes the east exit out of town. 

–

The city limits were well behind him – couple miles now if Mox has to hazard to guess. He's got his dark blue hoodie on, hood pulled up over his head. It helps to shield the chill of the wind that was blowing down the paved, two lane road he was walking along. He kept his head down, watching the white line steady pass under his feet. There hadn't been that many vehicles that had come along; a few pick-up trucks and a beaten up raggedy car or two. A majority of them had been heading for Oakdale and the one or two that were heading in the opposite direction hadn't stopped so Mox had ignored them.

As he continues to walk, he lets his mind wonder. Ponders about what he should do next. He couldn't really continue to flee with no source of income and the money that he'd grabbed from his stash before he left Cincinnati was running thin. He maybe had just enough left to book a cheap motel room for a good week and still be able to eat for maybe three days of that week. Stealing had crossed his mind but Mox dismissed it immediately. There was not way he was ever going to snoop that low again. He'd been lucky that he never got caught before and after that close call where he almost got killed he swore he'd never do that again. 

Lying low in another town didn't particularly appeal to him anyway. With his luck, it probably wouldn't go him any good. Those fuckers had found him when he was literally the equivalent of a needle in a damn haystack. He had to get to another town first. It was getting pretty late in the afternoon and he didn't want to be walking down the side of the road at night. Problem was, he didn't know how far another town was from Oakdale and he didn't think to ask the sheriff because he'd been in a hurry to get away from the questioning gaze. He supposed to was too late to worry about that now. 

Mox sighed, reaching in his pocket to pull out a cigarette. His third to last one. He lights it up, taking a drag. It helped to clear his mind, get him back his focus. Allow him to get somewhat of a game plan going. He'd get to the next town and then start working his way back to Cincinnati. He'd stand a much better chance in his territory. Figure out how to deal with the goons there. Hopefully keep them thinking that he was still running around down here. 

_'But what about Bray? You'll never see him again.'_ That sudden thought out of nowhere makes him stop dead in his tracks. He exhales the smoke from the drag he took shakily. Fuck. That one came out of left field and hit him like a ton of bricks. He shakes his head, takes another drag and continues walking, glaring hard at the pavement under his feet. The thought brought a tightness to his chest that Mox wasn't accustomed to at all. He tried to ignore it, push it on the back burner, but it seemed to get tighter and tighter with each step that he took. Each beat of his heart was accompanied by a dull stab of pain. And it brings back the memories of those sparks that had traveled through him when his and Bray's eyes had locked. He tries not to think about them. He also tries not to think about how right it had felt to simply be around Bray. It had felt like the world wasn't as bad as it was. Felt like the world took a backseat and it was just them. He tells himself not to think about how good it had felt when Bray had touched his cheek, the tingling and sparks that had followed his fingertips until Mox had broken the contact. He fails of course and thinks about all of those things, letting out a string of curses as he does so. It honestly scares him. Bray made him feel a certain way. A certain way that he'd never felt before with anyone. Mox doesn't even know what is was that he was feeling. Was it just lust because he hadn't gotten laid in a while? Or was it.... more? He didn't have a name for the more part. People like him shouldn't be associated with that word. 

The sound of tires crunching on the pavement and a vehicle slowing down is what pulls Mox from his own head. He figures the vehicle is just slowing so it could pass him so he keeps his head down and keeps walking. To his surprise, the vehicle – a black SUV – does pass him but pulls off the road a few feet in front of him and stops. 

Hope flares in Mox's stomach. Perhaps he's caught a break and this good citizen will offer him a ride to the next town. That hope is quickly squashed as all four doors to the SUV open and the six goons start stepping own. Mox tenses, sliding the duffel bag off his shoulder, letting it land on the dirt beside the road. 

“Well. Well. Well! Look who it is boys! Our good pal Moxley!” One of the goons say in a maliciously cheerful voice, wide Cheshire grin on his face. 

“Pal? Man you must have smoked too much or something! All I see here is trash that needs to be taken out. For good.” Another one speaks up, his deep voice booming as he cracks his knuckles. 

The one that had spoken first looks at the other, a quick glance, before shrugging, “Yeah I guess you're right. I mean we could have been pals Moxley. But you couldn't keep your mouth shut.” 

“Yeah well,” Mox growls, watching as the men move to surround him. There is no traffic. No escape. He's trapped. “'M not really into forcing people into prostitution to pay off debts.” 

“Isn't that a bitch then?” that Cheshire grin is back, “Because you're going to pay for running your mouth. Though I highly doubt you're going to enjoy it. Got any last words?”

“Yeah,” Mox says before he surges forward to tackle the man that was talking to the dirt. He flails his fists, connecting with the guy's face. 

The rest of the men are on him in seconds. He tries to fight back but he is outnumbered. Four hands grab his arms and wrench them back behind his back. Mox yells out in pain when his bad shoulder – the one that had been dislocated several times – was wretched the wrong way. He fights through the pain and kicks out, catching one of the men as they come at him. He's just starts to twist in an attempt to break the hold the two men had on him when a punch nails him directly in the gut. The wind is knocked out of him and he's unable to do anything but gasp out for breath. That's all it takes. Another punch connects to the side of his face and send him face down in the dusty dirt. 

He tastes the blood pooling in his mouth and splits it out before attempting to get back up. He gets up to his hands and knees before a swift, hard kick to his side sends him falling sideways where he rolls down the slight incline and into the ditch. 

Mox does his best to put his arms up to shield his face and head as a volley of punches rain down on him. More kicks and stomps to his side. A hard punch grazes his head, and he feels the pain followed by the trickling of blood as it started running down the side of his face. Pain is erupting over his whole body. He struggles to drawn breaths, has a feeling that some of his ribs might haven been broken. The edge of his vision is starting to darken. 

Fingers grip his hair and pull sharply, drawing out a hiss from between his lips. His head is lifted and twisted back violently. The goon with the grin comes into focus, just inches from his face. He had a smug smirk on his face. “Well Moxley,” He says, tsking right afterward, “Ya know you really have quite the nag for getting yourself into quite the pickles don't you?”

“Fuck you,” Mox manages before spitting blood right in the guy's fucking face. It's a small victory that really amounts to nothing as he's slammed back down, face first into the ground. He's starting to drift closer and closer to unconsciousness. 

He feels a few more blows land on him before he feels himself being drug a short distance before he's released. The smell of woodland fills his fading senses. He can nothing but groan out in pain as more kicks rain down on him before they stop. He's starting to fade faster, his vision blurring to the point where he couldn't make out anything. He faintly feels them going through his pockets, robbing him. He 's just able to make out some of their conversation. 

“Should.... finish him?” 

“....Might....be....idea...”

“Someone's coming!” 

The sound of quickened steps could be heard as they retreated back to the road. Mox hears the doors on the SUV slam shut and soon the sound of tires squealing as the vehicle as it pulls back onto the road before he looses all consciousness. 

–

The late afternoon sun is shinning through the woods, bathing the porch of the cabin in soft orange light. Bray was seated in his rocking chair, slowly rocking himself, eyes closed against the weak glare. He's doing his best to try and ignore the dull ache that had settled in his chest since his arrival back from town the second time. 

Watching the lamb walk away earlier had been so hard. He hadn't wanted him to leave them. Had wanted him to stay. Whatever had been on his mind this morning, Bray had the sneaking suspicion that it was the reason he'd ended up with them. Bray became convinced that the lamb hadn't stumbled across Braun in the woods that night just because he'd simply gotten lost in the woods. No there was something else. Something big. Bray had wanted oh so badly to as but hadn't wanted to pry too much as it really was none of his business. 

Now though, he wished he had inquired about it. 

He had traveled back to town a few hours after taking the lamb back – told himself at first that he was just going to check up on him, make sure he was okay, but he had arrived at the motel in time to see the sheriff exiting room number thirteen, the room that the lamb had been renting. Immediately he knew something was not right. A different mix of emotions had surged through him so fast that he couldn't identify half of them. He remained in the shadows, fully hidden and undetected by everyone else. The manager had joined the sheriff and she was asking if he'd found anything that might explain why those men were looking for the lamb. 

Men? So that was the reason the lamb had been in the woods. Bray ground his teeth. 

“'Fraid not,” the sheriff had answered, “I ran the name you gave me. Luckily I did get a hit. His name is Jon Moxley. He is from Cincinnati, Ohio like he said he was. Kid has a record but it's nothing but a few arrests on disturbin' the peace and public intoxication. Even gave the station up in Cincinnati a call. They knew him by name but said he wasn't on any of their radars for any illegal dealings. He's just your average youngster, mouthy and hotheaded.” 

“Those men sure were after him for some reason. You saw them sheriff, they didn't look like your run of the mill goons. They looked like real nasty people you wouldn't want to cross. And they knew his name so he must have done something to them,” the manager was saying, “And when they took off after him I was so scared. I'm so glad he managed to lose them in the woods. I'm also glad you were in the area and you got them to leave town. I still hate to think that he had spent the night in an alley though. Poor young man.” 

“I'm still not so sure he stayed in an alley Ms. Shirley,” the sheriff sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, “He was too clean, a bit too clean to have been running around in the woods prior to sleeping in the alley. But I am glad that he was able to make it back here safe and that the Wyatts didn't get him while he was out in the woods. Lord knows nothing good would've happened to him if that had happened.” 

Bray had rolled his eyes. The rumors that were circulating in this town about him and his brothers and sisters were both humorous and ridiculous. Half the tales pegged him and his family as people who wondered the woods at night and attacked anyone lost in them. That wasn't the case at all. If those people had steered clear of his family's territory then they'd be fine. 

“I wonder if he'll be okay out there walking on the road by himself,” the manager voices, concerned, “It's getting really late.”

“He's probably hitched a ride already and is miles away by now.” The sheriff guessed with a nod, “Plenty of people 'round here don't mind givin people rides.” 

Bray had backed away at hearing that. He'd returned to the compound and taken position on the porch to think. Everything in his being screamed it's frustration. Screamed denial at the truth that had been laid out. He didn't want to believe the truth that his own ears had head. But there was no denying it. 

The lamb was gone. 

And he'd probably never see him again. 

That thought has Bray slumping back in the chair, letting his head rest against the back of it. He opens his eyes to find that the sunlight had already faded and it was growing darker. The lanterns had already been lit. 

He was sulking and he was fully aware of it. He knows the family can sense his soured mood. They did well to steer clear of him and left him alone. Luke and Erick had both given him concerned looks but neither dared approach him. 

_“He will be something special.”_ Abigail's words ring in his head again, bringing forth so many questions. If he was special then why did he leave? Was Bray supposed to have stopped him? Had he missed something? Had he been wrong in assuming that this man – Jon Moxley – had been the lamb to start with? 

He's still pondering all of these questions, trying to get some kind of answers when he feels it – a very familiar presence falling over the clearing. He feels the light brush of a cold wind as a small breeze blows around the clearing. Nothing but the flickering flames in the lanterns are affected. The leaves in the trees remained still. Rising on the breeze, starting out low but soon growing in volume, is an eerie wail. 

Bray feels the goosebumps rise on his skin upon hearing it. The whole clearing goes still as it sounds. The children freeze in place, the women look around warily, and the men all tense, on high alert for danger. 

Bray stands, slowly. Something didn't feel right. It's hanging heavily in the air. And then he feels it, a ghostly hand wrapping itself around his wrist and tugging urgently. He's reaching for the lantern hanging on the hook on the porch before he even thinks to do so and stepping off the porch. He heads across the clearing in a trance, following the tugging of the hand. He feels it when Luke, Erick, and Braun fall into step behind him. He leads them forward, already aware of where they need to head. 

Southeast. 

–

Mox finds himself standing in what appears to be the forest. At least that's where he thought he was. It was so dark, he couldn't make out anything but only the faint outlines of what appeared to be bushes and trees. There was sound though. The soft twanging of what sounded like a banjo drifted through the woods. Squinting, Mox is just able to make out a small path stretching out in front of him. It was trodden, well used. 

Hesitantly, he starts walking down the path. The sound of the banjo starts to grow louder and soon he sees a soft glowing light through the trees. He quickens his pace, coming to the edge of the treeline. A small clearing stretched out before him on the banks of a river. The light that he's seen was from a single lantern hanging in a tree. The lantern isn't what catches Mox's eyes though. It's the two people in the clearing. One of them was a tall, skinny, slightly bearded man with short cut black hair. He looked to be in his mid to maybe late twenties. He was standing stock still off to one side of the clearing, staring unblinkingly off into the woods that stretched out on the opposite side. His fingers were steadily picking at the banjo he held in his hands. 

The other person is what really caught and held Mox's attention. She was seated in the middle of the clearing. Her back was to him. She was wearing a dress that Mox could swear he'd seen before but couldn't place where. She had long black silky hair that hung down past her shoulder blades. It glimmered when the light from the lantern caught it just right. Her appearance wasn't what had Mox fixed though, it was her voice as she sang along softly to the banjo's tune.

_“As I went down in the river to pray_  
Studying about that good ol' way  
And who shall wear the starry crown?   
Good Lord show me the way” 

Mox is mesmerized by that voice. He recognizes it immediately. It's the same one that spoke to him before in the woods. He is so transfixed that he doesn't realize when the banjo stops playing. Doesn't notice that they've noticed him. 

“Don't be shy now,” her voice startles him, making him jump. She's turned around, looking at him. Recognition slams into him as he finally sees her face. She's the woman from the picture in Bray's cabin. He blinks and she's standing now, beckoning him forward, “Come forth.”

He's moving before he's even had time to process her request, his legs bringing him into the clearing and right up to her. He stops just in front of her. 

He sucks in a breath, holds it as she reaches out and places a hand gently on his cheek. He wants to jerk back from the touch but his body doesn't seem to want to obey what his brain is saying. He stands frozen and strangely calm. She smiles softly at him, “Greetings.” 

“Who are you?” He doesn't even realize he's asked a question until she answers it, voice gentle.

“My name is Abigail.” She pulls her hand back and turns toward the river, not before Mox catches sight of the blood on her hands though. That's right those thugs ruffed him up. She kneels down, washes her hand. 

A jolt of fear does go through him now. 'Am I dead?' The thought comes to his mind. He wonders if he'd succumbed to is injuries or if a wild animal had found him and finished him off. He wonders if this is what heaven looked like and wonders if this lady, turning back to face him was some sort of angel but as he opens his mouth to actually ask, she shakes her head as though she could see the things swirling in his head. 

“Fear not Jon Moxley,” she soothes, reaching out to gently grab one of his hands, “you are not dead. Not by a long shot.”

Mox blinks. He's never seen this woman before in his life he's sure. How does she know him? Only one way to find out so he asks, “How do you know who I am?” 

“I know many things,” is the answer she gives then adds when she gets a confused look, “I watch. I listen. I learn. I've had my eyes on you long before you came here. You, Jon Moxley, are something special. You are very strong.” she moves to stand beside him as her gaze falls out over the river. She spots something and points to it. It's a branch snagged on something as the black swirling current of the river's waters wash around it, “You are that branch. The river's current is life. No matter how hard the current pushes against it, it does not move. That's you in relation to life. It does not matter what all you have encountered in this vicious evil world,” she turns to gaze at him, her dark eyes bright and shining, intense, “you have stayed as defiant as that branch. Your very soul,” her eyes are burning into his and she lifts the hand not holding his up and places the palm of it right on his chest, “it burns brighter than the very sun. An ever burning flame that threatens to burn down anything that stands in its way. It will never be extinguished. And that is why I chose you."

“Chose me?” Mox echoes, “For what?” 

Abigail doesn't answer him though. She looks at the skinny man, who had been watching silently the whole time, nodding once. He immediately moves, walking across the clearing to grab the lantern from the tree. He walks back towards the edge of the woods where he stops, stands and waits. She leans in, pressing her lips against his forehead. 

Mox closes his eyes as she does it. She stays close, warm breath fanning over his skin. 

“I must leave you now,” She whispers, pulling away from him completely. She smiles at him again when his eyes fly open to stare at her fearfully. “Fear not,” she says over her shoulder as she starts walking toward the man, “You will be safe. He will come for you.” 

“Wait!” Mox calls, intending to move forward to grab onto her. To stop her from leaving. But he's frozen and his body won't move. He watches as she and the man disappear into the fog that had suddenly appeared in the trees. He calls after them “Wait!” 

The clearing fades to black and he's floating. The pain, that had become a distant dull thing, surges back up through his body causing him to cry out softly. Faintly, through the waves of pain, he hears a voice. It's whispering to him, urgently. 

“I got you. You're safe now. Stay with me darlin'”

He recognizes that voice almost at once. 

_Bray._

–

The lantern's light illuminates the woods ahead of them as Bray and his boys continued to move through them. It was silent, eerily so. The kind of silence that is normally not present in the swamp. It does not help to sooth the bed feeling that had started to coil in Bray's stomach since they left the compound. He pushed on ahead, quickening his pace slightly. 

Soon they were drawing near to their destination. The trees started to thin and Bray could see the opening up ahead. They step out of the woods moments later into the shallow ditch of the road that wove its way though the woods, connecting Oakdale to the next town. The road is void of traffic and remains that way as Bray and his boys walk up to stand on the shoulder. 

“Spread out,” Bray orders, “Look for anything that looks out of place or disturbed.” 

His boys do immediately as told. Erick and Luke cross the empty roadway and start heading in opposite directions on the other side while Braun heads opposite of Bray on the side they were on. 

It wasn't long before Erick was calling out. “Bray!” 

Bray crosses the road, Braun close behind, and joins Erick. He points down. Bray lifts the lantern and sees that there is dried blood, quite a good bit of it, spattered around the dirty and smeared onto the grass. The dirt all around the blood is disturbed, as if many people had been moving around in it very recently. The grass is also flattened slightly, like there had been someone standing or walking on it. 

Bray steps forward slightly, the lantern illuminating more of the darkness and reveals skid marks in the dirt and on the pavement where a vehicle had taken off in some kind of hurry. It wasn't really anything that he was going to get worried over just yet. Many people in this area liked to hunt from their trucks. Chances were that it was just someone who had shot a deer and had loaded it and squealed off. 

“Look,” Luke calls. He's standing down halfway down the side of the ditch on that side. Bray joins him and sees even more blood. There was longer grass in this part of the ditch and there was a strip of it that was flattened as well. Bray did start to grow concerned when he saw that the grass was flattened in a way that indicated that something had rolled down the incline instead of drug up it. 

Bray holds his hand out for Luke to stay put as he slowly moves down into the ditch. More blood is smeared into the grass at the bottom and there is what appears to be a spot where something was dragged into the woods. Bray follows it, holding the lantern up higher to cast more light out.

When he gets closer to where the underground begins, he sees it. Partially hidden in the ferns there were growing at the edge of the tree line was a body. A body that he recognizes immediately. 

The lamb.

“Luke!” He calls, rushing forward. He sets the lantern on the ground as he kneels down beside Mox's body. Gently Bray rolls Mox over onto his back from where he was on his side. Bray's breath catches in his throat. 

Dried blood is caked in the dirty blond mop of hair as well as all alone the side of the handsome face. Dried blood is running from his nose from where it had been possibly broken and his lip had been slip open. Bruises were starting to appear on his face. The sight itself send boiling hot rage through Bray's whole entire body. How _dare_ someone lay a hand on _**his**_ little lamb? The thought makes him freeze despite the rage. His? Since when did-

“Bray?” Luke's voice breaks off that thought. He's knelt down on the other side of Mox with two fingers against the side of Mox's neck, checking for a pulse. “He's alive.” 

There was no time to waste then. “Here,” Bray hands the lantern off to Luke before he, gently as he possibly can, hoists the unconscious man up bridal style. 

A weak whimper of pain escapes those bloody lips at the movement and Bray plants a soft kiss to the bloody forehead whispering, “I got you. You're safe now. Stay with me darlin'” 

Abigail's voice sounds in Bray's ear as they hurry back to through the woods for the compound. _“Such a precious little lamb. Your precious little lamb.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for the lack of an update. Lack of motivation and other personal things have kept me from working on the chapter.

Comfort and warmth. 

That’s the first thing Mox notices when he starts coming to. It was a stark contrast to the hard, cold dampness of the forest floor. His fuzzy mind slowly connected the dots. He wasn’t in the woods anymore, that was a good sign at least. 

The pain that he felt was numbed. 

That’s the second thing Mox’s mind registered. The pain wasn’t gone, it was still there, but it was dulled to the point where Mox would push it to the back of his mind and ignore it for the time being.

Slowly, he cracks his eyes open, prepared to be met with the blinding lights and sterile white that would indicate he was in a hospital room. He’s fairly surprised when his vision clears and he finds himself in the room that he’d stayed in just the previous night before. The lantern had been moved from the wall and was now sitting on the nightstand beside the bed and a rocking chair had been brought into the room. It was sitting beside the bed, empty. The rest of the room was the same as he remembered when he stayed. At least he knows where he’s at, that mystery is solved. 

He started pushing himself up into a sitting position, gritting his teeth as his body complained the action and a fresh wave of pain washed over him. He ignores it, gets himself pushed up into a half sitting, half leaning against the headboard position. The covers fall down to his waist and he’s able to survey himself. He’s shirtless - wearing nothing but his boxers as a quick peek under the covers covering his lower half reveals - and his torso is covered in bandages. Bandages are wrapped around his midsection, covering the broken ribs that Mox knows he’s gotten. He can feel the pain from each breath he draws, has had enough broken ribs in the past to know what they feel like. 

His bladder complains and Mox debates on whether or not he can stand on his own two feet. He’s about to attempt it - already has the cover thrown back, when the door to the room opens and Erick appears. He’s got a bowl of water and rags in his hands. He stops, halfway into the room when he sees that Mox is awake and attempting to get up. 

They stare at one another, both blinking, before Erick sets the bowl and rags on a nearby dresser top and makes hastily for the exit. 

“Hey!” Mox calls after him, cringing at how his voice comes out rough and scratchy from his dry throat, but the other man is gone. He scowls at the open doorway before moving to slowly ease his legs over the side of the bed opposite of the rocking chair. 

He’s not alone for long before Bray’s entering the room. It dons on Mox that Erick must’ve went to fetch his leader. Bray’s at the side of the bed in a instant, putting a hand on Mox’s shoulder.   
“Darlin’ you shouldn’t be movin’” He starts but Mox cuts him off,

“Gotta pee, now.” 

Bray doesn’t say anymore, just nods and helps Mox to his feet. Mox nearly falls, would have if Bray hadn’t had his arms around him, but with Bray’s help he’s able to hobble over to the adjoining bathroom. 

“I got it from here,” Mox murmurs, waving his hand dismissively at Bray. Bray backs off but doesn’t leave the room. He stands by the doorway, watching. It’s irritating because Mox can’t go while being watched. He turns to snap, “Will you stop watching? Fucking can’t go with you watching.” 

“Sorry darlin’” Bray smirks back, looking more amused than apologetic but he does have the courtesy to turn his back, face the room rather than Mox. 

After he’s empties his bladder and washed his hands, Bray helps him back to bed. He leans against the headboard, watching as Bray retrieved the bowl and rags that Erick had left and brought them over, setting them beside the lantern on the nightstand. 

“It’s good that you’re awake,” Bray says, sitting in the chair. He reaches up to start unwrapping the bandage that was wrapped around Mox’s head. 

Mox furrows his brows in confusion at the obvious relief that was present in Bray’s voice. “How long have I been out?” He asks when the bandages are undone and Bray is dipping a rag in the water. 

“Four days.” 

“What?!” Mox pulls back when Bray tries to dab the rag on his forehead, his eyes widen and he stares at Bray. “You’re serious?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you darlin’” Bray’s tone is honest, serious. He reaches forward to rest a hand on the back of Mox’s neck, draws him back toward him so he can lightly touch the rag to Mox’s forehead like he first intended. “You were pretty beaten, like I said. We brought you back here and I did the best patching I could. Got all your flesh wounds tended to,” Mox reaches up, lightly runs his fingers over his forehead. He feels the closed gash there, eyes narrowing in confusion, “Fish string,” Bray confirms, “makes for good stitching material. Anyway, as I said, I got you patched up. When you didn’t wake up though a few hours later I was afraid that you’d suffered some sort of head injury. Waiting is all that we could do.” 

“Not that I’m not grateful, but you couldn’t have just dropped me off at a hospital?” Mox questioned, lowering his hand. Why hadn’t Bray just dumped him off at the one in town?   
“I don’t much believe in hospitals darlin’” Bray smiles, leaning back in the chair. “Besides there isn’t a true hospital around for two towns over. The one in town here is just basically a large doctor's office. They have nothing modern, would’ve been the same as being here.” 

Mox nodded. He didn’t like hospitals either but at least they did have modern technology that would’ve found a head injury if he had one. Guess he didn’t have to worry about that now as he was awake and really no worse for wear. There was something that was puzzling him still though. “How’d you even find me anyway?” He asked. He’d went in the completely opposite way of where Bray had lived and it was a pretty large expanse of highway. Perhaps he’d been out there a whole lot longer than he guessed he had. 

“She lead me to you.” Was Bray’s simple answer. 

“She?” 

A nod. 

“Who is she?” 

“Abigail.” 

Mox blinks. He’s not all that surprised at that. 

“You don’t look surprised,” Bray didn’t miss it either, “She’s spoken to you before.” That wasn’t a question yet Mox nods. Bray leans forward, bracing his elbows on the side of the bed, “I heard her whispering to you when you first arrived here and was standing in the living room and I’m more than confident when I say that it was her who lead you to our borders.” 

Again Mox nods, “Yeah.” He pauses, remembering the dream that occurred when he was unconscious, “She… uh…. Came to me when I was out too. Told me you were coming,” Bray perks up at this, “It was her and some other dude with a banjo.” 

“What else did she say?” Bray asks immediately. He reaches out to take Mox’s hand and Mox doesn’t flinch for once at being touched. Normally he wouldn’t stand it, jerk back, but there was something about Bray that didn’t cause that reaction in him. “Her words. They’re important.” 

“I-” Try as he might, Mox can’t remember anything other than the fact that she had appeared and that she’s said that Bray would come for him.. The rest was all fuzzy and he draws nothing but a blank, head starting to throb in protest at his efforts. “I can’t remember.” He reaches up with his free hand to rub at his forehead. 

Bray nods, leaning back. “Don’t stress yourself. It will come back to you in time.” 

They sit in silence for a while until Mox’s stomach growls loudly. Mox grins sheepishly while Bray huffs out a laugh. 

“You… uh… don’t happen to have any food do you?” 

“I think that maybe we can whip up some breakfast for you. Eggs and grits good?” 

“Yeah that would be fucking great.” 

“C’mon then darlin’” 

Mox is helped from the bed, this time Mox is able to walk on his own. Bray follows him, ready to lend a hand if needed, as they head down the hall toward the kitchen. 

\--

Two and a half weeks. 

That’s how long the lamb - “Mox! Call me Mox!” - had been with them. Bray knows. He’d been counting. In that time, he’s come to know a lot about the man known as Jon Moxley, starting with how quickly the man bounced back from injury. 

It was not even a day after he’d woken up that Bray had left for only a few minutes to attend to some issue with the family and when he’d come back, Mox had rid himself of nearly all the bandages that Bray had wrapped him in before and was attempting to get himself into his clothes. Bray had stopped him, ignoring the few choice curse words that had been thrown his way, and requested for him to rest for at least another day. “If you do something to aggravate your injuries I won’t bandage you back up again.” It’s what he had told the glaring dirty blond.   
Mox had begrudgingly agreed to rest, though Bray suspected it had something to do with the fact that Mox couldn’t fight him at the time than the man actually thinking he needed to rest. 

They were out now, walking along a trail in the woods. Bray was leading the way, a few steps ahead of Mox. The dirty blond was moving a lot better, the limp that he’d had before was nearly gone and the bruises that had covered his face and body were fading nicely. Anger still burned within Bray every time his eyes fell to the discolored skin as the need to hunt each and every one of those men down and dispatch them as they had tried to do to the lamb surfaced. Bray pushed it back each and every time. The men that had done this were gone, Bray had sent his boys out to check neighboring towns for any signs of them but they hadn’t stuck around - had probably returned to Cincinnati. 

“Where are we going anyway?” Mox’s voice brings Bray from his thoughts and he turns back to look at the trailing dirty blond. He wasn’t really looking at Bray, his eyes focused on surveying the surrounding undergrowth and trees.   
Bray pauses, allowing Mox time to catch up the few steps that he’d fallen behind. He never did tell the man where he was being lead and up until now, Mox had never inquired about the destination. Intentionally, Bray hadn’t a set destination in mind when they started out on their little walk but his feet took him here, always took him to this one spot when he wasn’t sure where he was going to go. 

“Just a bit further darlin and you’ll see,” is his way of answering the question and he smiles when Mox shoots him a look. He doesn’t say anything else though and they fall back into step, with Bray leading and Mox following, once again his eyes falling over their surrounding. 

“You know,” He says, almost too quietly for Bray to catch, “I have the strangest feeling that I’ve been here before but there is no possible way.” 

Bray cranes his head at that but doesn’t say anything. 

It’s not long before the undergrowth starts to thin and the sound of running water is heard. Soon they are stepping out onto an open stretch of ground that is cocooned by trees on all sides except one. On the far side from where they stepped out, the land meets the freely flowing waters of a river. 

Bray hears Mox’ quick intake of breath and turns to look. He’s still partially in the treeline but he’s looking around. Recognition is shining in his eyes. 

“This,” Bray starts to explain, outstretching an arm to indicate the clearing, “was Abigail’s favorite spot and also,” he indicated off to the far right side of the clearing toward a large oval shaped rock that’s sticking up from the ground, “her resting place.” 

\--

Mox doesn’t move, doesn’t respond to Bray’s words. His eyes focus themselves on the makeshift headstone. This clearing, he’d been here before, in his dreams when she had came to him. This was where he met her, on this very bank. 

Her words ring in his ears now, clear as day. 

“This was where I met her,” His eyes finally come back to Bray, “this was where she told me-” He stops himself, shaking his head.

“What did she tell you darlin?” Mox jumps when Bray’s hands touch him, cradling either side of his face. The touch is gentle, Bray’s skin was soft. Mox looks into Bray’s eyes seeing curiosity mixed with something else in them. Something he couldn’t place. 

“She told me I was special.” Mox’s mouth is moving before his brain can stop it, spilling out all that she had told him, “She told me I was defiant and that my soul burns brighter than the sun,” Bray gives a little nod at that, “And she said that was why she chose me.” 

“What did she choose you for darlin?” 

Mox shakes his head, “I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me. She kissed me on the forehead and they left.” 

“I see,” Bray pulls back, letting his fingers trace over Mox’s cheek, Mox shuddering as small tinges of electricity follow in their wake, before he breaks all contact. Mox’s fingers itch to reach out for the bearded man but he refrains, doesn’t understand where the sudden urge came from. He silently chastised himself as Bray turns away, walking the short distance to where the headstone was. 

“She was right,” Bray says, gazing down at the headstone as he slips his hands into the pocket of his pants, “You are special and your soul is the brightest one I’ve ever seen.” He turns his head, offering a smile. 

Mox feels his cheeks heat up and quickly ducks his head down, letting his bangs fall down to shield his eyes and prevent Bray from seeing the blush forming on his cheeks. Jon Moxley simply did not blush and yet here he was, standing in a clearing in front of a makeshift grave with someone he still doesn’t know and he’s fucking blushing. It’s the second time Bray has made him blush. That knowledge is not lost on him. 

A mix of so many different emotions were swirling through him - emotions Mox normally didn’t feel nor has any idea how to handle feeling them. Heat, that’s definitely not humidity, is coursing through him, burning him from the inside. As he continues to stand there, beside Bray, a thought comes to his mind that absolutely shocks him. 

He wants to kiss Bray. 

Mox blames the thought on the emotions. He snorts and shakes his head, trying his best to ignore it. But when he looks back up, Bray’s still smiling - had actually turned until he was facing him and there was definitely something sparking in those blue eyes that was far too warm from what Mox was used to or comfortable with. Mox couldn’t make himself turn away though. He was frozen to the spot. The distance between them started to close and Mox honestly doesn’t know who was moving - whether it was him or Bray, but they were suddenly inches apart. Bray brings a hand up to cup the side of Mox’s face - a move that usually would call for immediate rejection on Mox’s part but not this time. Mox’s heart hammered in his chest as Bray started to lean in. His eyes slip closed, waiting for the kiss. It never comes. 

The moment is broken by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Mox and Bray both snap their heads toward the sound. Erick is standing in the edge of the treeline, looking apologetic. 

“We’ve caught a trespasser,” Erick announces, quickly adding when Bray’s eyes narrow dangerously, “He’s asking, more demanding, for Jon Moxley.”


End file.
